


Lyft Me Up

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Clint Barton, CNA Clint Barton, Depressed Clint Barton, Divorce, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, Hard Candy, I'm projecting myself a little into Clint, Lyft Rides, M/M, No Sex, gratuitous hugging, recovering Bucky Barnes, the author is a horrible person, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 08:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19169881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Clint thinks he might be oversharing a little. His customer scores on the app have been dropping, and it’s taking longer to get picked up. Divorce will do that to a guy.Might explain why the scruffy, hot dude with the glacial blue eyes keeps showing up, with the back of his car smelling like vanilla and a generous supply of Clint’s favorite candies stuffed into the door panels whenever he books a ride.





	Lyft Me Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MississippiDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MississippiDuchess/gifts), [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



> I don't REALLY know how Lyfts work in regard to being able to block a customer or pick your driver, but this is the theory I have in my head about it. This is absolute wish fulfillment, trust me. I love my Winterhawk smut as much as the next person, but sometimes, I just want a nice meet-cute. My muse has been broken, lately. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves.

“It’s quicker if ya take I-ninety, y’know,” Clint suggested, ever the backseat driver, since… he was in the backseat. Riding up front always felt intrusive, unless his Lyft had a trunk full of the driver’s own crap, and Clint had to put his purchases on the rear seats. The woman in the driver’s seat side-eyed him from the rearview mirror and huffed through her nose.

“I know that. My own GPS knows that. But I have to follow the Lyft tracker, so I can stay in the queue. No matter how shitty the directions from the tracker are.”

“Wow. Dude. That. That kinda sucks.”

“Right?”

“‘Kay.” Clint contented himself with unwrapping one of the Lightsavers Wint-O-Green mints that he filched from one of the pockets of the organizer pouch she had strapped to the back of the passenger seat. Hers was neat as a pin, loaded with courtesy toiletries, and the car itself reeked of Febreze Dragon Fruit spray. Kid had panache. Allison was a student at Juilliard and worked at the library part-time; this was her weekend side hustle to pay her dorm fees until she aged out of being her parent’s dependent. Ali rocked pink hair, more piercings than Clint could count with the naked eye, and a t-shirt that read “In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised.”

“What do you have to get at Walmart today?”

“Toilet paper. It’s _always_ toilet paper.”

“Why not get it at Costco?”

“I hate when people ask me that. Costco shoppers always ask me that.” She smirked at him for this. “Seriously. You have to spend money before you can spend money on the stupid membership. Then they don’t even really bag your shit. You have to walk out of the store with it all out on the open on a pallet jack. Then, okay, and then, the guy at the door checks your receipt just to make sure you bought what you bought. How does he know I wasn’t buying meds to treat VD? Or sex toys? Or butt cream? Or the industrial size laxative?”

Ali bit her lip, forgetting that it was pierced for a second. “Dude. You’ve got _issues_.”

“I just don’t want anyone poking around in my stuff. Some guy with his little highlighter pen ain’t the boss of me.” Clint pulled a face as Ali turned up her stereo. “Can we not do that? I could turn my aids down, kiddo, but then I can’t hear ya talkin’ t’me.”

“Oh, shit. My bad. I forgot.” Then she grinned at him. “I didn’t even know they came in purple.”

“I have a friend who knows a friend.”

Clint didn’t nag Ali when she flipped off the guy who cut her off at the freeway exit and leaned on her horn, but it made his ears ring. When the chain restaurant signs drifted across the horizon in all of their gaudy, primary-colored glory, Ali asked him “Seriously, though. Costco, if you have to buy in bulk. It’s great if you have a family.”

Clint sighed. There it was. He didn’t even try to stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

“Kinda never hafta buy in bulk anymore. It’s just me now, Al. Kinda getting a divorce. Kinda sucks.”

Ali shrank in her seat and mouthed “Oh, shit” before she turned her attention back to the road, but Clint caught it in the mirror anyway. “Yeah,” he muttered, shrugging. “What can ya do, right?”

“Wow. I’m so sorry. That’s. That’s a lot.”

“Guess I never saw it coming. Until I did.”

“Did you?”

“Well. Yeah. It’s complicated? I mean, maybe this looks bad?” His expression was sheepish, sandy blonde brows furrowed with a little divot between them. “She filed first. And I guess… we just didn’t click anymore. I kinda half-assed it for our anniversary. We’ve got court on the fifteenth.”

“Didn’t click?”

“We just don’t want the same things.”

And Clint didn’t stop himself from the usual bout of verbal diarrhea. His Lyft rides were a helluva lot cheaper than visiting his therapist, and at least they gave him candy. 

“I missed our foster daughter’s soccer games. A lot of ‘em. Katie-Kate said it was okay, but Bobbi wasn’t impressed. She’s _done._ She was pissed when I missed her archery tournament, too. I work nights. It’s been rough when it comes to having a life, y’know?”

“Don’t like day shift, huh?”

“Doesn’t pay as much. And it’s a different energy. I like my nights. Especially up on my wing. I’m still on the trauma unit. Sometimes, night shift and having a family don’t mix.”

“Is it that much of a difference?”

“Definitely is when I’m making the mortgage payment.” Clint sighed. “And the alimony payments.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Clint tipped Ali generously on the app, checking the “Clean car, friendly conversation, safe driving” buttons and leaving her five stars. Clint finished his Target shopping and hit the pet food department, mentally kicking himself for letting the kibble bag get too low. He browsed the self-help books and _Us Weekly_ while he waited in line at the register and booked his next ride, wondering if he had time for a Starbucks latte on his way out before they arrived. It was four o’clock, still early enough for his charge nurse to call him off of his cash shift. Clint was counting on it for his court fees and the last chunk of his retainer. 

The app told him that he was being matched with another driver, James, who was due to show up in ten minutes in a blue Civic. Clint hoped he had trunk space. The dog food, raft of toilet paper, paper towels and the rest of his kitchen crap was enough to make it cramped in the back seat, and that was where Clint liked to ride. Made him feel fancy to ride in the back. 

Clint watched the path of the tiny car on the satellite display on his phone’s screen. Looked like James was taking the long way around the lot. He gulped his latte, getting a strong hit of nutmeg and cinnamon from the lip of the cup.

The Civic was impeccably maintained; the hot pink Lyft sticker was peeling a little on James’ windshield. Clint saluted him briefly with his cup, grinning at him as he rolled down his window.

“Clint?” he greeted uncertainly.

“You’re lookin’ at him. Don’t kidnap me. My ex won’t pay my ransom.”

“Hey. I’m not an Uber driver, pal. I just don’t know if I have room for all your stuff.” James’ tone hinted that the kidnapping was implied if Clint booked a ride with his company’s rival.

Clint grinned even more widely. “We’ll make it fit.”

“You sound like my grandma, pal. She says that every time she stocks up her deep freezer for a family visit.”

“Your grandma has a deep freezer?”

“There’s still the top tier of her wedding cake down in that thing from circa nineteen-twenty-five.”

“Sweet.”

James climbed out of the car, and Clint silently admired the guy’s arms and ass as he opened up the trunk and loaded Clint’s purchases into his cramped trunk. There were gym bags and totes and other random crap taking up space.

“Doesn’t look like you’re hiding a body back there.”

James’ lips curled. They were a pretty pink. Clint tried not to stare as he manhandled the dog food bag into the back and gave the trunk hatch a little wiggle before he slammed it shut. James waited for Clint to buckle himself in; his dashboard greeted him with his name and told James that he had another ride added to his queue.

“Hey. Sweet-Tarts!” 

“Help yourself.”

“Don’t tell me to do that. I will clean you out, swear to God. I love these. My brother Barney and I used to eat these things til we made ourselves sick.” Clint unwrapped two of the little tarts and sucked on them, not caring how the sour flavor clashed with his coffee.

“This your only gig, Jamie?”

“Bucky. Call me Bucky. And I’m a student at the moment. I’m halfway through my phlebotomy program.”

“How do you get Bucky out of James?”

“My best friend calls me that. It just stuck.”

“Smells nice back here.”

“Little plug-in,” he told Clint, nodding to the little Febreze clip on his air conditioning vent.

“Makes it smell fancy in here.”

“Customers complain when I hang my sweaty gym socks over the vent. You know how that goes.”

“Picky,” Clint agreed as he munched on another candy. Those light, blue-gray eyes twinkled back at Clint, full of mischief and sass, and James turned them out of the lot and into early evening traffic.

 

*

“Hey,” Clint asked the next time Bucky picked him up, this time at his hospital’s loading dock. “This is becoming a habit.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Looked like you were ten miles off the freeway,” Clint challenged. Bucky shrugged, and his eyes crinkled.

“Hey. They matched me with you, so.”

“I never know how that works,” Clint admitted. “Do you guys have a choice of who you pick up?”

“I’ve refused rides before,” Bucky admitted.

“Shit… really?”

“Yeah. We can do that. You didn’t know that?”

Clint huffed. “Really?”

“Yeah, especially if you get an abusive customer.”

“I had no clue. I mean, I’m not a perfect passenger. I’ve never thrown up in anyone’s car, or anything.”

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing anyone’s done in my car.”

 

“That something that doesn’t need explaining?”

“Yup.”

Clint rambled on about his court date. “Just when I think we’ve got everything sorted out, she decides to change her mind about visitation. And support. It’s like she’s reminding me all over again why we split.”

“Why did you two split?”

“There wasn;t any cheating, or anything. I mean, there was plenty of ‘anything.’ Money. Schedules. Day care. Housework. Everything was beginning to turn into drama. I didn’t get along with her parents all that well when we got together, but it only got worse once we got Katie.”

“Your little girl?”

“Yeah.” Clint’s expression grew fond as he handed over his phone after thumbing through his photo gallery. “There she is.”

“She’s so stinkin’ cute!” Bucky grinned down at the tiny, gap-toothed girl with gleaming dark hair and fair skin who appeared to have Clint’s dog in a headlock, but the dog appeared not to mind. Their fingers brushed as Bucky handed back his phone, and Clint shivered at the little tingle that gave him.

“Right? She’s gorgeous. She’s just… yeah. Anyway,” Clint continued as he crammed his phone back into his carrier bag, “they were a coupla know-it-alls about parenting once we started fostering her and planning to adopt. Never mind that they asked me why we didn’t wait for the agency to give us a kid who was White.”

Bucky winced and shook his head. “Ooh. Ouch. No. Nobody’s got time for that.”

“Aint nobody got time for that!” Clint agreed, nodding at a slant, not quite a head shake, giving Bucky the best possible, visual _Hell, no!_ with that gesture.

See? Bucky got it. He _alway_ got it. 

“My mother-in-law didn/t like dogs,” Clint added.

“Buddy, you’re so much better off.”

*

Logan was sympathetic to his plight when he picked up Clint in his old truck, if Clint could tell by his grunts in response to his rundown of his last appointment with his lawyer. The air freshener duked it out with the old pong of cigar smoke that was embedded in the upholstery, but Clint wasn’t about to get judgy about that shit.

“Time to start gettin’ utilities in yer own name, bub,” Logan pointed out. “And screw Build-a-Bear. That shit’s overpriced. It’s a goddamned teddy bear, fer crap’s sake. Take her to the trampoline park instead, like ya planned. Let yer ex-mother-in-law spend her money on that crap if she’s so concerned about what yer gettin’ yer kid for a gift.”

Clint tipped him generously and left the “Clean Car” button unclicked, but he had to give him points for conversation. 

Logan was married. His wife’s photo was tucked in the flap of his window shade, dark-skinned, blue-eyed and stunning. Clint envied the soft look Logan had in the photo and wasn’t surprised that she had put it there.

Clint missed how that felt.

*

“Fancy seein’ you again,” Clint murmured as he climbed into the familiar blue car. “Oh. Wow.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow at Clint in the rearview. “What?”

“You. Uh. Cut. Your hair.” Clint gestured to his own neck vaguely, indicating that Bucky’s was now bare.

Bucky failed to suppress his smile as he ran his fingers through the back of his shorter locks. “Still feels weird. But I like it better short for summer. And I wanted to look like an adult for a job interview.” His tone was shy, and Clint could swear he _blushed_. 

“Aw, sweet!” Clint filched a few of the Sweet-Tarts from the door panel and began unwrapping them. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumbasses not to hire you, Buck-O.” Then Clint recognized what Bucky was listening to on his satellite radio. “Dude. Is that ‘Toxic?’”

“Hey, don’t knock Britney,” Bucky warned him. “And don’t judge me.”

“If you don’t change it, I’m gonna start singing along, Buck!”

By the time Clint finished slaughtering the chorus, Bucky tuned it to another station with extreme prejudice and unbridled snickering.

“I’m never taking you to karaoke,”

“Well. You _could_. I mean, it ain’t like my social calendar’s full.”

They shared a meaningful look in the rearview. “Neither’s mine.”

“Are you legitimately the only guy driving in town?” Clint blurted out, feeling a weird flush creep over his skin when he held Bucky’s gaze too long. “I mean, I feel like you’re the only guy who ever picks me up anymore!”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Bucky’s smile was shy.

“Really?” That’s… it’s just funny. It’s been a _minute_ since anyone else has taken me anywhere.”

“Do you mind it?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope.” He popped a candy into his mouth and began checking his emails from his phone just to do something constructive. 

Bucky’s smile was furtive and pleased. “Good.”

 

*

Lucas wasn’t in the mood to hear about Bobbi and her horrible tuna casserole today. He declined the ride in his queue. “Be my guest, Barnes, if you’re on today,” he mused.

*

 

Ali considered accepting the ride, then shook her head. “Nah.”

*

Jubilee declined the ride in her queue when she saw the familiar blond. “NnnnnOPE.”

*

 

Happy declined it, remembering his first - and last - ride with Clint. Nice enough guy, but a human train wreck. Besides, Happy figured, James was driving today, trying to make enough to cover his student loan payment and his light bill. Clint usually needed a ride both ways.

“Sorry, buddy,” Happy muttered. “Nothing personal.”

*

Clint was strangely quiet when he climbed into the back of the Civic, and Bucky felt the change in him immediately. His eyes were bloodshot and dark-circled, and he scrubbed at his stubbled jaw with his palm. “Buddy… you okay?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Okay.”

“M’not. Sorry.”

“S’okay. Hey. Take one of those water bottles. You look like you could use it.”

“No beer in it,” Clint joked. 

“Too early,” Bucky argued.

“Yeah, yeah…” Clint uncapped it and swallowed half of it, then set it into the cupholder despondently. Bucky turned down the volume on his radio, feeling concerned with the lack of Clint’s usual prattle.

He felt an odd prickle when he heard Clint’s loud sniffle, followed by a low “Fuck…”

“There’s Kleenex. In the pocket.”

“Okay. Thanks, okay…” Clint fumbled with the plastic-wrapped pouch of tissue. “Shit. How do you open these damned things?”

“Here, here…” Bucky took it from him and tore open the flap, yanked a few tissues out, and handed them over to Clint. Clint’s hand was shaking when he accepted them.

“Sorry. It’s just been a bad week. And today was a bad day. I just feel so goddamned hopeless. I don’t wanna unload on you.”

“You’re not!”

“I am, I am. M’sorry.”

“You’re not,” Bucky argued. “It’s okay. Hey. I don’t have my shit together, either. Most of the people I talk to every day really _don’t_. You’re not in the minority, okay?”

Clint swiped at his watery eyes and huffed a laugh. “Okay. Fine. Okay.”

Bucky gave him a sympathetic look. 

“It’s just a lot, y’know?”

“I bet. I know I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Clint admitted. “I just feel hopeless. I don’t sleep. I haven’t since we split. Nights are the fucking worst. I’m not ready for what life is gonna look like being alone again. My roommate is okay, but I hate my apartment. I hate having to leave the house to do laundry. I miss my little girl. I wanna hate Bobbi, but I don’t. Not… not really, y’know? This is just a lot. I know I sound like a basket case-”

“You don’t,” Bucky insisted.

“You’ve gotta be getting sick of me by now,” Clint told him in a husky, tiny voice.

“Only thing I’m sick of is you not riding shotgun. I don’t bite.”

Clint shook his head, doubting what he was hearing, but Bucky gave him a lopsided smile. Bucky paused at the intersection and craned his neck around to face him. “C’mon.”

“I don’t usually - aw, fuck, why not?” Clint unbuckled himself and brought the water bottle and tissues with him, hopped out, ignored the guy in the red Range Rover behind him that honked at his temerity, and let himself in the front passenger side.

“Buckle in.” Bucky moved forward belatedly and returned the honk with a blare of his own horn. “Fuck off, asswipe!” he jeered out of his window. Clint laughed, but it was a weak, rusty sound.

“M’gonna get ya in trouble.”

“I can get in trouble just fine on my own, pal. Don’t worry about it. Hey.” He reached for Clint’s wrist and gave it a brief squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay. Some days are gonna be worse than the rest. This is just you, havin’ an off day. It’s okay if it feels like too much. And you can’t unload on me too much. You can’t. I’m all ears.”

“I can’t talk about anything else, lately. S’hard. It just comes out every time I open my mouth.”

“So, you’re just supposed to keep it all to yourself?”

“I did, in the beginning. I didn’t wanna admit that she was leaving me. I didn’t wanna admit that I couldn’t make a marriage work. For the first few weeks, I just - you know, I shut down. I clammed up about it. It took a piece outta me every time anyone asked me what she was up to, or why they hadn’t seen much of the two of us together anymore.”

“I could see that,” Bucky agreed. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I ain’t exactly a pillar of dignity and good behavior, Buck-O.”

“Thank God,” Bucky encouraged. Clint snickered despite himself, and Bucky squeezed his wrist again. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yet, you’re doing it. You’re moving forward. There’s gonna be brighter days and bigger chances around the corner, Clint. Look, I had an accident a while back. Really bad car wreck. Jacked up my left arm and shoulder really bad. Took me months of PT and three surgeries to fix it. Good thing I’m right-handed, but I’m not much for tank tops, anymore.”

“You could probably still rock one. I mean, you are kinda ripped,” Clint pointed out as he swiped at his nose with a crumpled Kleenex. “Chicks dig scars and the story behind ‘em.”

“Chicks aren’t who I try to impress,” Bucky admitted. 

Clint’s brows jumped. He took another sip of his water. 

Bucky reached to turn up the radio again, but Clint stopped him. “Hey. It’s. Fine. Y’know? If you’re. Not.”

“If I’m not… what?”

“Straight.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s lips twisted. 

Clint wondered how far in his mouth he’d just shoved his foot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something small, white and pink swim into his line of vision. He glanced up at the Sweet-Tart packet that Bucky held out over the console. Bucky was giving him one of those looks that Clint liked a little too much. His stomach fluttered in response.

“It’s gonna get better.”

“I’m glad you charge by the ride and not by the hour. Not that you couldn’t.” Bucky smiled and gave a thoughtful little nod, shrugging as he turned his eyes back onto the road.

They reached Clint’s apartment, and Clint fished out his phone to finish the ride. “Thanks. For the water. And the talk. And, yeah. Just, everything.” Clint unbuckled his seatbelt and tossed the used tissues into a small plastic bag that Bucky had taped to the door panel for that purpose. Guy was prepared for everything.

“Do you need a hug?” His voice was plaintive and deep.

“I, y’now, I - oh, _fuck_.” Clint’s face crumpled, and the waterworks began again. He nodded emphatically, and Bucky pulled him in. Bucky smelled like detergent and felt solid and so warm. Clint didn’t wanna be clingy, but Bucky… _Bucky_. Those long fingers scritched over Clint’s back. 

“Don’t report me, okay?”

“Don’t let go yet.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” Bucky rubbed his back, and Clint’s fingers curled themselves in the back of his burgundy t-shirt. Bucky ignored the message on his phone that he had another ride in his queue. 

“I feel like a fuck-up.”

“You’re not. You’re moving forward, even if it’s just baby steps.”

“I’m a train wreck. A great, big unlovable train wreck.”

“Your daughter doesn’t think so. Your dog doesn’t think so. The people you work with on your wing who you’re always bringing donuts and coffee to don’t think so. Your friends in your archery club don’t think so. I don’t think so. What’s this ‘unlovable’ bullshit? Unlovable? You? Heck, no.”

Clint knew he was getting Bucky’s neck all wet, now.

“Promise me you won’t rate me as a lousy customer.”

“You tip me pretty well.”

“Please tell me the rest of the Lyft drivers don’t have my picture on a dartboard on some bar in town anywhere.”

“I’d never let that happen. You’re kinda my favorite.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s favorite anything.”

“All the more for me, then.”

Bucky released him with a faint smile, nodding as Clint hurried out of the car, embarrassed again but still tingling from that hug. “Take it easy, man.”

Clint almost forgot to finish the ride. He paid the fare and then stared down at the “What went well?” feedback box. He contemplated the past ten minutes and every life choice he ever made before he began typing with a shaking finger.

_He came along right when I needed him. It’s just something he does._

 

*

“Can we take another lap?”

“Sure can, sweetheart,” Clint encouraged. His patient smiled up at him and held more tightly to his arm as they strolled the corridor for her therapeutic walk. Call lights flashed above a few doorways, some of them nurse needs, but at least two of the aide lights were for him.

“I can handle the one for room three. He just needs off of the commode,” Billy told him as he hurried past.

“Thank you!” Clint called after him.

“You’re wearing my favorite color,” Cassandra told Clint as she stared up at him with rheumy gray eyes that might have been blue in her younger years. “I adore amethyst purple. I had some irises that color in my front yard before my Harold died, and before I had to sell our house.”

“Purple’s the best color,” Clint agreed. “Don’t let anyone tell you any different, because they’d be lying.”

“It looks nice on you.”

“Why, thank you!”

Jess strolled past them and mentioned, “Hey. Someone left you a goodie in the break room.”

“A goodie? Is it donuts?”

“Nope.” But she was grinning.

“Then, how good could it be?”

“You’ll like it,” she promised.

“Perhaps you have a secret admirer,” Cassandra suggested. 

“It’s not Christmas. Too early for Secret Santa.”

 

Clint got her back to her room and tucked back into bed and answered the remaining light for a warm blanket and a can of 7-Up before he satisfied his curiosity. He wandered into the break room and felt a funny shiver in his gut when he saw the huge bag of Sweet-Tarts dressed with a purple bow on the center of the table, with a little card. His name was scrawled in big, loopy script on the envelope.

“I hope to God this isn’t too weird,” Clint pronounced, reading the message inside. “Figured your day could use a little sweetening up. Share some with Katie-Kate.” Clint fought the battle with his mouth not to smile and lost. “Jerk,” he muttered.

“A really cute guy snuck that in and then snuck right back out on the service elevator,” Jess told him. “Please tell me he left his number, because if you don’t want him, then he’s fair game.”

“Hey. Get your own.”

Then a light went on in Clint’s head. He grabbed his personal cell out of his locker, darted out to his charge desk, and gave Nick a pleading look.

“I need to take lunch now. I know I signed up for after three-”

“I’ll only have two aides on the floor, Barton.”

“Please?”

“We can call the SWAT,” Billy mentioned. 

“We’re not getting that pedes admit after all, I just checked,” Jess said, since she was team lead. 

“I need Barton on the floor,” Nick argued. “Stay put.”

“Can I take my break, then?”

“Take a ten. Don’t take too long.”

That nixed any chance of calling a Lyft, then, Clint grumbled to himself as he ducked into the elevator. Maybe if he was lucky -

Of course Bucky was the kinda guy to help someone in need.

There he was, when Clint reached the lobby, knelt down on the floor helping a volunteer pick up a pile of brochures that she’d dropped. 

“I’m so clumsy…”

“It happens. No worries. I get butterfingers sometimes, myself.”

Clint didn’t stop himself from grabbing the opportunity for a horrible pun. Bucky had just left it hanging there, right? “Butterfingers? Those always get stuck in your teeth. I figured you more for a sweet-and-sour kinda guy.”

Bucky snickered as he met Clint’s gaze. “That was bad.”

“I’m not sorry.”

The volunteer grinned and rushed off, and Clint crammed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Thanks for the goodie. It wasn’t _that_ weird.”

Bucky bit his lip, shrugging. “Wasn’t too much?”

“Nope.”

“Are you on lunch?”

“Nope. M’not. I have, like, six-and-a-half minutes to get back upstairs and act busy.”

“You look good in scrubs.”

“Bet you will too, one of these days.”

Bucky’s grin reappeared at full wattage. “About that. I got the job. I go to orientation in three weeks.”

“I don’t know if I’m happy for you, or sad for me.”

“What? Why?”

“Technically, if we work together, it’s gonna be weird if we try to date.”

“It’s not weird when you spend time with me at my other job,” Bucky reminded him.

“That’s… a good point.”

“I’m full of ‘em. Hey. C’mere.”

“Wait… what?” Clint felt a funny jolt of excitement as Bucky pulled him toward a tiny housekeeping supply closet and rushed them inside. Bucky pulled the door shut with a tiny slam, and Clint snickered as the room went black.

“We’re gonna get caught…”

“C’mere,” Bucky husked, and Clint’s world tilted on its axis as Bucky pulled him in, feeling his warm breath steam his lips as he kissed him. Strong, firm hands grasped his hips, and Clint groaned at how good it felt. He nearly fell backwards over the edge of the large, yellow mop bucket, but Bucky steadied him, and the kiss grew greedy and all-consuming. Bucky’s stubble rasped against Clint’s skin, making him tingle.

“No fair,” Clint gasped. “I hafta go back to work. That’s not fair at all.”

“I left my number on the card,” Bucky reminded him as he chased Clint’s mouth in the dark. “Call me. Text me. Now you won’t have to use the app to get a hold of me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Clint joked, despite the fact that he was _thrilled_. 

“The view from my bed is better than it is from my back seat,” Bucky promised.

“Well. When you put it _that_ way…”

**Author's Note:**

> A late night chat with mississippiduchess spawned this idea. I’ve been taking Lyft several times a week since I filed papers, and I blurt out so many things that don’t need to be heard in the light of day. It’s therapeutic. 
> 
> They must HATE ME. So I’m letting Clint and Bucky play this theory out.


End file.
